Runaway
by Sita Z
Summary: Malcolm escapes, and the crew goes looking for him. Story complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Runaway**

**Disclaimer**: My apologies to The Libran Iniquity for borrowing her original characters Crewman Clara Kopleck and Ensign Rose (love those two, Libra :)!). Paramount owns the Enterprise and her senior crew, although I couldn't think of anyone who deserves them less. So there :P.

**AN**: Thanks to T'eyla for her feedback and help. This story contains mild Slash (T/R) - it's very very mild, so if you don't like the idea of Trip and Malcolm as a couple, it should be easy to ignore :).

As always, feedback is very welcome!

1

"No, Lieutenant. Absolutely not."

Malcolm tried to sit up and winced as his head screamed in protest at the movement. Tiny, far too bright stars appeared out of nowhere and began to dance in front of his eyes, and Malcolm was so distracted that he offered no resistance when Dr. Phlox' firm hand pushed him back down on the bed. His skull was pounding as if it were going to explode, and right now, Malcolm found the thought strangely comforting. A nice loud bang, maybe a little smoke to round things off, and he would not only be out of sickbay (he doubted even Phlox could do much if your head was gone), but would also be rid of the sickening ache that roared inside his skull. The more he thought about it, the better he liked the idea.

"Doctor, I'm..." fine, he finished in thought, but his throat had other ideas, producing a harsh, hacking cough that made him feel as if he had swallowed a bunch of razor blades.

Another part of his body that would best be eliminated by introducing it to an explosive charge, Malcolm thought grimly as he spit a nasty-looking blob of... something... into a handkerchief. Phlox' gloved hand appeared in front of his eyes and removed the handkerchief.

"I believe you can see for yourself why I can't allow you to return to your quarters, Lieutenant," the doctor said, sounding infuriatingly smug as he dropped the hanky into the overflowing bin next to Malcolm's biobed. "You may not be contagious, but I'd be careless not to have your readings constantly monitored. The Tyrellian influenza is no joking matter."

_It's just a bloody case of alien flu_, Malcolm tried to shoot back, but what came out sounded more like the small noises Porthos made when he was begging for cheese.

"Try not to speak, Lieutenant," Phlox told him. "Your vocal cords are infected, and using them will only add to your discomfort."

_Actually_, Malcolm thought sourly as he watched the doctor sort through the hyposprays on his wheeled equipment table, _at the prospect of being locked up in here for an indefinite period of time with no one but a chronically happy doctor and a homicidal bat to keep me company, I don't see how **anything** can still add to my discomfort_.

His head punished him for thinking by sending a particularly nasty throb down his spine, and Malcolm closed his eyes, feeling miserable and very sorry for himself. Of all the people who had been exposed to the virus (that was, everybody who had handled the micro equipment from the recently opened supply box in Cargo Hold 4), only he had fallen ill, and so, of course, he was the only one lying in sickbay with a headache that threatened to split his skull in two, being poked and prodded by Dr. Phlox. Not that he wished this... influenza on anybody else, but it would have been reassuring proof that Fate hadn't picked him out as her own personal spare-time amusement if someone else had fallen ill as well. As it was, however, all thirty-three potential influenza victims were brimming with health, except for one unlucky and very foul-mooded Armory Officer.

A clucking noise somewhere above his head stirred him out of his broodings, and Malcolm opened his eyes to see Phlox frowning at his bio monitor.

"Your temperature seems to have gone up again," the doctor said, his eyes still on the screen. "39,6 degrees. I think we should try and bring your fever down a little, Lieutenant."

Malcolm nodded weakly, hoping that the injection might also help with his headache. Maybe with the constant dull pounding gone, he might even be able to catch some sleep.

To his surprise, however, Phlox didn't pick up any of his hyposprays.

"I'll be right back," the doctor announced brightly and bustled off, leaving Malcolm to stare after him and wonder what he was up to now. With growing suspicion, Malcolm heard the sound of a tap being turned on and for a moment had a horrible vision of Phlox dumping him into a bathtub full of icy water, claiming that this was the best way to bring down a patient's temperature.

After less than two minutes, however, the doctor was back, and Malcolm saw that he was carrying a bowl of water with several white... things floating around inside. Things that reminded him of wet towels, although Malcolm's fever-blurred mind failed to understand what Phlox would want with a bunch of soaked sickbay towels. The doctor set the bowl down on his equipment table, and Malcolm noticed several small ice-cubes floating next to the towels in the water. His vision of before re-entered his mind, and suddenly he knew that he _really_ did not want anything wet and icy touching him at the moment. Actually, the idea of those towels coming anywhere near his fever-racked body made him want to jump off the bed and run. Except that he couldn't even sit up on his own, of course.

"What... are you doing, doctor," he croaked, watching with growing horror as Phlox removed the blankets from his feet, and, quickly lifting his patient's legs, spread an extra sheet across the foot of the bed.

The doctor smiled at him. "Sometimes the old-fashioned remedies are the most effective," he said. "Cold leg compresses are ideal for breaking a fever."

"Oh no." As quickly as he could, Malcolm pulled his feet under the sheets and out of the doctor's reach. "You're not wrapping those wet things around my legs." His voice threatened to fail, but Malcolm cleared his throat, not ready to give up without a fight. "I'd like to avoid frostbite if I can help it, thank you very much."

"Don't be silly, Lieutenant," Phlox scolded, and lifted one of the towels out of the bowl, wringing it out so the water wouldn't drip all over the floor. "You'll find it's a very relaxing sensation."

Malcolm highly doubted this, pulling his legs even closer to himself. Sighing, Phlox reached under the blankets and felt around until he managed to grab hold of Malcolm's right foot. Briefly, Malcolm considered kicking and screaming, but a sharp pain in his knee joint reminded him why that might be an unwise move. Meeting only weak resistance, Phlox pulled the foot out from under the blanket and pushed the sheets aside so that Malcolm's right leg was exposed up to the knee.

Malcolm made as if to pull his leg back into the safety of the blankets, but Phlox was quicker. He grabbed Malcolm's ankle and clucked in disapproval.

"Lie still, Lieutenant," he ordered as he reached for the towel. "You don't want me to use restraints on you, do you?"

Malcolm opened his mouth for a caustic reply, but his sarcasm was drained out of him as the wet towel was slapped on his leg. It felt as if someone had created a space-time distortion, transporting the lower part of his leg to the very depths of the arctic ocean. Okay, so maybe it wasn't that bad, but it was still _bloody damn cold_. Instead of the acid remark he had intended, only a small, pained squeak escaped him. Undisturbed, Phlox proceeded to wrap the wet towel around Malcolm's calf, adding a dry one so the water wouldn't soak through the bed sheets.

"There we go. And now the other leg."

Malcolm closed his eyes as his left leg was submitted to the same procedure, trying to pretend he wasn't in sickbay being tortured by a Denobulan doctor who called having one's legs encased in ice a "relaxing sensation". Finally, Phlox let go and pulled the blankets back over Malcolm's feet.

"All done. That wasn't so bad, now was it, Lieutenant?"

Malcolm opened his eyes again and glared, but Phlox had already turned away to get rid of the now-empty bowl. Malcolm cleared his throat so he would be able to speak up loud enough for the doctor to hear him.

"When can I go back to my quarters?" He didn't even mention going back to duty, realizing that the answer would only leave him more depressed than he already was.

Phlox turned around. "At least another three days, I'd say," he said, and tipped the bowl so the rest of the water poured into the sink. "It depends on how you respond to the treatment, of course."

_Three days_. Malcolm could barely suppress a groan. Was it so unusual that he wanted to be in his own place when he was sick, and not here where he had no privacy and had to endure the doctor's pokings and proddings every minute of the day? He felt his left leg beginning to itch under the compress and gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the sensation. If Phlox really thought that he was going to stay here for another three days... well, then the doctor definitely had another think coming.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think so far!


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**: Thanks for your kind reviews!

* * *

2 

"So, how're you holding up, Malcolm?"

Malcolm smoothed a few creases out of his blanket and tried to sit up straighter, wishing Phlox hadn't wrapped that ridiculous orange scarf around his neck.

"Fine, sir. Thank you, sir."

For some reason, the Captain sighed deeply as he sat down on the chair next to Malcolm's bed. "_At ease_, Malcolm. I'm not here on an inspection round, I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"Oh." Malcolm knew he sounded as stupid as he felt... but that was nothing new, at least not when he found himself confronted with Captain Archer in his "Me and my buddy Malcolm" mood. He had great respect for Jonathan Archer, but ever since that fateful breakfast several months ago - _still haven't started to follow any sports, sir_ - Malcolm had been careful to avoid any situation that might inspire the Captain to initiate another little "getting to know you" session. Actually, Malcolm was rather confused why the Captain would want to know him better in the first place; he'd been told by several independent sources that he could be a "very difficult person to be with". Well, one of those sources had formulated it more along the lines of "ya sure can be a pain in the ass if ya set yer mind to it, darlin'", and had subsequently been smothered with a pillow, but fact was that Malcolm was well aware he wasn't the most sparkling of conversationalists.

Captain Archer, however, didn't seem to mind that Malcolm's contribution to the conversation consisted mainly of a few croaked yes sir's. He told him everything about the new M-class planet they'd discovered and were now headed for, about Ensign Rose offering to continue the self-defense lessons Malcolm had scheduled for the crew a few days before he had fallen ill (Malcolm couldn't quite suppress a sigh at that), and about the New Year's Eve party the crew were planning.

"You'd never guess these people had a big Christmas party only six days ago," Archer sighed. "They even considered using the torpedo launchers for a show of fireworks."

"What!" Malcolm startled so badly that he almost upset the water pitcher on his bedside table. "Sir, you... you didn't..."

Archer smiled - a little too indulgently for Malcolm's tastes. "No one's touching the torpedoes, Malcolm, don't worry. I told Trip and his gang to take their stuff to Cargo Hold 2, after he'd assured me that those things won't do damage to the bulkheads."

"Trip?" Malcolm asked, and Archer looked very much as if he'd like to clap a hand over his mouth.

"Using the torpedoes wasn't exactly Trip's idea, come to think of it," the Captain quickly added, obviously trying to make amends. "I think it was Crewman Kopleck who made that suggestion."

_Nice try_, Malcolm thought, but he wasn't fooled; Clara worshipped the torpedoes almost as much as her boss did, and wouldn't dream of abusing them for a show of pyrotechnics. No, this harebrained idea had the name of his dear partner written all over it in three meter high neon letters.

_And doing it while I'm in sickbay, unaware that someone's about to mess with Enterprise's expensive defense equipment..._

Silently fuming, Malcolm crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"If you happen to come by Engineering, sir, would you mind asking Commandah Tuckah to pay me a visit?"

Archer looked unhappy. "Malcolm, I'm sure he meant no harm..."

"Oh no, sir. He never does."

Seeing that Malcolm was unwilling to give in, Archer sighed. "But don't tell him I told you."

Ten minutes later, Malcolm watched his Captain leave, still flinching inwardly every time he thought of what had almost happened to his torpedoes. Correction: what Trip had almost done to his torpedoes.

He glanced at the bedside clock; only one and a half hours until Trip's shift was over. Just as well. For this time, there was going to be Trouble.

----------------

Only ten minutes after the Alpha shift in Engineering had ended, Trip's blond head carefully peeked through the curtains. From the guilty look on his face, he'd already talked to the Captain before coming here.

"Hi, darlin'!" He smiled nervously, still only partly visible behind the curtain. "How ya feelin'?"

"Fine," Malcolm said. He didn't sound as dangerous as he wanted to (his voice was still little more than a hoarse croak), but made up for it by giving Trip his best drop-dead stare. "How was your day, dear?"

Trip flinched at that last word; he knew that Malcolm calling him "dear" meant that he was in big trouble. He closed the curtains behind himself, and Malcolm saw that he was holding a plate with a piece of pie.

"Brought ya somethin'", he said with a guilty smile. "Apple pie. I peeled off the crust an' ate it so it wouldn't hurt yer throat."

"Well, that was very thoughtful of you," Malcolm said, eyeing the crust-less piece of pie. It didn't look very appetizing, but the smell was delicious and he found that some of his anger was melting away. Still, the thought of his torpedo launchers being abused for a New Year's Eve amusement was outrageous, and he maintained his cool stare. "Why don't you take a seat, dear."

Trip shuffled over to the chair next to Malcolm's bed. Before he sat down, however, he held up the plate.

"D'ya want it now or later?"

Malcolm considered; reading someone the riot act would look less impressive if he was eating a piece of apple pie at the same time. On the other hand, he was rather fond of warm apple pie. Very fond, to be honest.

_And doesn't he know it_, Malcolm thought sourly as Trip set the pie down in front of him with a big smile.

"Dig in, darlin'. Bet the doc didn't get ya any dessert."

"Thanks," Malcolm muttered, savoring the taste of juicy apple bits mixed with crumbs of pastry. Swallowing did hurt a bit, but he'd had enough soup dinners to last him for a lifetime. And it _was_ thoughtful of Trip to bring him dessert, even though the man had a blatant disrespect for Malcolm's precious torpedoes.

"Look," Trip began, plucking at a non-existent thread on his sleeve. "I know you're mad at me, but I was gonna ask ya first. Honest. I only told Jon because I needed his permission as well."

Malcolm ate another piece of pie and threw Trip a sideways glance. "You do realize that deactivating the torpedoes for your nonsense would have left us defenseless in case we were attacked?"

Trip ducked his head. "Yeah, I guess we got a little carried away..."

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. "'We'?"

"Uh, the organizin' team. For the party."

"Ah." Now that he knew that Trip hadn't intended to go behind his back, he found it hard to stay angry with the engineer. Especially with the pleading puppy dog look he was getting.

"Ya still mad at me, darlin'?"

Malcolm sighed. He'd had a rather caustic speech ready for this occasion, about the importance of treating defense equipment with proper care, and Engineering not being the only important department on Enterprise. Now, however, he found himself thinking that the speech could wait until he was feeling better. And besides, he wasn't really angry anymore.

"Only a little," he said and handed Trip the empty plate. "The pie was very good. Thanks, Trip."

Trip grinned and set the plate down on the bedside table. "Anythin' else I can do fer ya?"

Malcolm sighed. "Not really. Unless you can get me out of here without the doctor noticing..."

Trip made a show of thinking about it. "How 'bout I repair that malfunctionin' hand scanner an' hide ya in my tool box on the way out?"

Malcolm grimaced and coughed, groping for the box of Kleenex on his bedside table. Trip hurried to pull one out for him, and Malcolm snatched it out of his hand, glaring at his partner as he spit another bit of... something into the handkerchief.

"V-very funny," he croaked, aimed for the bin and missed it by two centimeters. "I mean it, Trip. The doctor said I've got to stay here for another three days. I won't survive that long. And..."

Malcolm trailed off and lowered his head. He wasn't going to admit it, but the idea of spending New Year's Eve alone in sickbay was a little depressing. Not that he cared about the party, of course. But he didn't want to be left here, in his least favorite place on the ship, celebrating the New Year with a box of tissues while everybody else was having fun.

Trip seemed to have picked up on his thoughts. He smiled and reached out for Malcolm's hand.

"Darlin', d'ya really think I'd go off to the party an' leave ya here to clink glasses with the bat?" He didn't wait for Malcolm's answer, shaking his head to emphasize his point. "I wouldn't do that, no way."

"Trip..." Malcolm began, wanting to tell his partner that he didn't want to spoil his fun and hoping at the same time that Trip wouldn't listen to him, but was interrupted before he could say anything.

"Don' worry, darlin', we're gettin' you to the party. There's no way you're not goin'."

Malcolm's heart sank at that. True, he'd rather be anywhere than in sickbay, but a noisy party in Cargo Hold 2 was only slightly further down on his list of Places Where Malcolm Reed

Does Not Want To Spend More Time Than Absolutely Necessary.

Sad to think that he should have such a list at all, he thought as he listened to his partner's excited rambling.

"Rostov's promised to make his special punch, an' the Cap'n said we could use a few small fireworks if the walls don't end up lookin' as if we'd had a showdown with alien invaders." He grinned at Malcolm, his earlier plans to use the torpedo launchers completely forgotten. "You'll love it, Mal."

Malcolm sighed. All he wanted was to be in his quarters with Trip, and have a nice, quiet time without any fireworks, parties, or smiling doctors who were set on keeping him confined to a biobed. But it wasn't going to happen. And he didn't want to hurt Trip's feelings, seeing how enthusiastic the man was about the idea of partying with Malcolm.

"I'm sure I will, Trip."

Trip's grin grew even broader. "I knew ya would say that. Now, I'll be back at 2200 to pick ya up. Liz Cutler's invited the doc to the party in the messhall, so there's no way he's gonna see ya leave."

Malcolm smiled weakly. "There are two parties?"

Trip nodded. "Yeah, but the one in the messhall is more about eatin' and talkin'." He grimaced, as if he couldn't understand why anyone would waste their time. Malcolm thought that if he had to pick the lesser of the two evils, he'd rather go to the "eating and talking" event in the messhall, but there was no way he could tell Trip he wasn't exactly in the mood for any party. Thanks to Phlox infernal leg compresses, his temperature had dropped back to almost normal, but he was still feeling as though a shuttle had landed on him.

Malcolm sighed, and noticed Trip's expression turn into a worried frown. "Y'alright, darlin'?"

For a moment, Malcolm considered shaking his head. Truth was, he was feeling like shite, but he knew he'd feel even worse if Trip abandoned his long-awaited New Year's Eve party to sit with him and hold his hand. As nice as holding Trip's hand might be, Malcolm wasn't that selfish. He nodded.

"Sure. Just a little tired."

Trip patted his hand. "Flu's a bitch, ain't it? Well, we'll make sure to find a nice sofa fer ya."

Malcolm nodded, thinking that even if he wasn't required to do anything but sit on a sofa, the party raging around him would be more than enough to drive him insane. But he wasn't going to tell Trip. The engineer would enjoy a party even if he had to be dragged in on a stretcher to attend, and Malcolm didn't have the heart to tell him no.

"I'd like that," he said, dragging up another smile for his partner. Trip smiled back in response and leaned forward for a quick kiss.

"Great. Well, I've gotta be off now. You gonna keep yourself entertained till I'm back?"

Malcolm nodded weakly and watched Trip pick up the empty plate. His hand on the curtain, the engineer winked back at him.

"See ya later, Mal!"

Malcolm leaned back and closed his eyes. He needed a plan.

* * *

TBC... 

Please let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for the feedback, it's better than chocolate ;)!

-------------

3

"Now, Lieutenant, which one do you think is more appropriate?"

Blearily, Malcolm looked at the two garments the doctor was dangling in front of him. One of them was blue and pink in color, the large patches blending into each other in a way that reminded Malcolm of batik. The other was slightly less... alarming in the coloration department, but made up for it by having large, trumpet-shaped sleeves, each of which contained enough fabric to make another shirt of the same size. And it wasn't as if the doctor needed anything smaller than XXL.

The doctor beamed at him, obviously taking his silence for stunned admiration.

"Appropriate for what?" Malcolm asked to gain time.

Phlox smiled. "Ms. Cutler asked me to accompany her to the party, and I was wondering what sort of clothing human men wear on such occasions?"

_Not anything remotely like these shirts if they can help it_, Malcolm thought, but of course didn't say.

"Well..." he began carefully. "I'm not sure if I'm the right person to ask. Maybe you should go to Commander Tucker."

_He might even like the blue-and-pink combination,_ he added in thought, still not quite having forgiven his partner for his planned attempt on the torpedoes' well-being.

"Oh no, Lieutenant!" The doctor's grin widened, reminding Malcolm of the famous Cheshire cat. For a second or two, his feverish mind wondered if the doctor might also disappear one day, leaving only his slightly disturbing smile behind. The mental image that came with the idea was so distracting that Malcolm missed Phlox' next words.

"... underestimate yourself. I've heard Ensign Sato say to another lady that you're one of the best dressed male crewmembers. I believe you must be quite the expert."

Malcolm sighed inwardly. It was already 2115, and if Liz Cutler didn't show up soon, he wouldn't have time to put his plan into action - which wasn't much of a plan except for "leave sickbay before Trip gets here", but still, Malcolm knew he would need time to do so. He turned his eyes back to the garments and tried to look as if he were seriously considering the merits and drawbacks of each of them before answering. Truth be told, looking at those hideous things all he could really see were drawbacks. For a moment, he considered asking the doctor whether he had any less... eccentric wardrobe, but then decided against it. "Plain" was very likely not something that came in combination with Phlox' off-duty shirts.

"I guess I'd take this one, then," he said, pointing at the shirt with the large sleeves_. At least it won't make you go blind when you look at it._ "I'm sure it is... appropriate."

"Thank you, Lieutenant!" Phlox smiled at him, then glanced at the monitor over Malcolm's head. "Everything looks fine, your temperature's gone down a little, I see. Ensign Summers will be in the laboratory next door, just call her if you need anything."

Malcolm nodded, trying to look tired. "I think I'm going to try and get some sleep."

Which actually was what he would have liked to do, but first he had to find a way of getting away so no one would drag him off to a party or another undesirable event.

"A good idea, Lieutenant," the doctor said, obviously surprised at his patient's unusual meekness. "The more you allow your body to rest, the sooner you will be back to full health."

Malcolm nodded at this piece of medical wisdom, allowing his eyes to droop to make it look real.

"Have fun, doctor," he said. "Oh, and a Happy New Year."

Phlox beamed at him. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I'm sure it will be."

Malcolm closed his eyes, and a moment later heard the sickbay doors open.

"Hello Phlox," Liz Cutler said and after a short pause: "You look great tonight!"

It sounded as if she really meant it, and once again, Malcolm admired the female gift for tactfulness. Then again, maybe Liz liked men in flared sleeves.

The doctor sounded pleased. "I believe I can return the compliment, Ms. Cutler. Your dress certainly flatters your, how do you say, female bends."

Liz snorted. "Thank you. You mean "curves", though."

"Yes, curves, of course! What a curious expression."

Malcolm risked a glance and, catching a glimpse of Liz, he had to admit that Phlox was right. Before he could take a closer look, however, Liz turned his way and he quickly closed his eyes again. She didn't need to catch him admiring her "female bends", and besides it would ruin his impression of being fast asleep.

"How's Lieutenant Reed?" Liz asked. "Is he doing better?"

"Oh, he'll be fine," the doctor answered cheerfully. "A little rest is all he needs."

"You didn't knock him out, did you?"

"No, of course not." The doctor lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Actually, I was planning on it, but he went to sleep all by himself. The fever must have left him quite tired."

Malcolm could hear Liz approach the biobed and shifted a little for good measure, sighing as if he were deeply asleep. After an endless second she turned away again.

"Maybe you should chain him to the bed as long as you're gone," he heard her say to Phlox, an amused chuckle in her voice. "We wouldn't want him to sneak out on us again."

Malcolm had to fight hard to keep his face calm and relaxed. It was true that he was famous for his escapes from sickbay, and on one undignified occasion the doctor had actually resorted to physical restraints after Malcolm had successfully slipped away to the Armory for the second time in one day. He was still convinced that he had done the right thing - the ship had been in immediate danger of an attack, and the torn muscle in his left arm should have been no reason to keep him away from his post. However, unfortunately his staff, the Captain and Trip had conspired to have him returned to the doctor, ignoring his assertions that he was feeling just fine. The second time he was dragged into sickbay, a grim-looking Phlox had awaited him with a pair of padded cuffs, and, over Malcolm's angry protests, had used them to secure Malcolm's right wrist to the bed frame. "It's for your own good, Mr. Reed," he had said, pocketing the key. "If rational arguments won't convince you, I'm afraid I'll have to take to drastic measures." And he had left the cuff on until Captain Archer had announced via intercom that there was no further danger of an attack.

It was an experience Malcolm didn't want to repeat, and so he kept his fingers crossed under the sheets as he waited for Phlox' reply.

Fortunately, the doctor seemed to be in a lenient mood tonight. "Oh, I'm sure he won't," he said. "I believe Commander Tucker is planning to stop by later on to check on him. Mr. Reed will be just fine."

_And he'll be long gone by then_, Malcolm thought. He would have liked to wait for Trip, but there was no way he was going to a party tonight, let alone one of the notorious Cargo Hold 2 events. Which meant that he had to get out of sickbay, and soon.

He waited for another two minutes to be sure that Phlox and Cutler wouldn't come back. Then he opened his eyes again and rolled over so he was facing the door leading to the laboratory. It was unlikely that Summers would come out the very moment he chose to get up, but even unlikely events had to be taken into account when dealing with a tactical situation. The compresses were still clinging to his legs like two lukewarm jellyfish, and Malcolm reached down to pull them off, depositing them at the end of the bed. He couldn't have anything hindering his escape.

Stealthily, Malcolm sat up, keeping a close watch on the door to the lab. His head began to swim with the movement, and he waited a moment for the dizziness to go away. The feeling didn't subside entirely, leaving him a little disoriented, but he supposed that he could manage well enough to walk. The floor felt cold under his feet as he lowered himself from the edge of the bed, and he wobbled a little, holding on to the bed frame. Briefly, he considered a detour to one of the closets to get himself a robe and a pair of socks (he was shivering as it was, and the thin sickbay pajamas did little to keep out the cold). A noise from inside the lab decided him against it. As quickly as he could manage on unsteady feet, he made his way across the room to the doors. This was the most risky part of his escape; if anyone happened to walk along the corridor right now, they would immediately know what he was up to. And if it was Phlox coming back for some reason or other, he'd spend the turn of the year sedated and handcuffed to a biobed.

Malcolm took a deep breath and pushed the door opener. The corridor outside was empty; there was no irate doctor to chase him back inside, nor a party-hungry Chief Engineer to drag him down to Cargo Hold 2. Malcolm took a step into freedom, then another, leaning against the wall as a shiver ran through his body. Freedom was a little too chilly for his tastes, and for a second, Malcolm considered going back inside. Then he saw himself sitting on a couch inmidst a group of partying engineers, trying to look as if he were having a great time despite his raging headache and desperate wish to be somewhere else. The image decided him. If he couldn't spend New Year's Eve with Trip, then he would at least spend it in a place of his own choice; somewhere quiet, preferably warm and preferably bat-less. He couldn't go to his quarters, of course; that was where they would look first. The Armory was also out; that was where they would look when he wasn't in his quarters. They might even check there first.

_I'm not that much of a workaholic_, Malcolm defended himself against his own thoughts. _Trip knows me best of all people on the ship, and he would check my quarters first._

The thought was something of a consolation, and Malcolm held on to it as he slowly walked down the corridor. As it happened, he had just thought of the ideal place to go.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks for the feedback :)!

4

"Scuse me, Chief?"

Trip looked up from the champagne bottles he had been arranging on the buffet table. Crewman Kelly was standing next to the comm, a ladder in one hand and a glittering discoball in the other. Briefly, Trip wondered if she had pushed the receiver button with her nose, then decided that he definitely needed to cut down on his consumption of the brownies Chef had sent down as a refreshment for the party crew. All that sugar seemed to be getting to him, if his last train of thought was any indication.

"Chief, Doctor Phlox wants to talk to you!"

Trip frowned and abandoned the champagne bottles to join Kelly next to the comm.

"Doc? Somethin' wrong?"

"Commander," Phlox said, in a tone that bode no good. Trip had a feeling that he was not going to like what the doctor would say next.

"Doc, what is it? Is there somethin' wrong with Malcolm? Is he all right?"

"I hope so. Commander, I'm afraid the Lieutenant has disappeared."

Trip frowned. "What do you mean, he has disappeared?"

"Lieutenant Reed is no longer in sickbay. He's not in the Armory, and Ensign Hsan just informed me that he is not in his quarters, either. I was hoping you could tell me where he is."

"I've no idea where he is, doc." Aware of Kelly's eyes on him, Trip tried to keep his growing apprehension out of his voice. "I haven't seen him since I stopped by sickbay a few hours ago."

Phlox sighed. "Ensign Summers contacted me a few minutes ago. She went to check on the Lieutenant as I had asked her to do, and was quite upset to find him gone."

Trip was about to ask whether they had tried scanning for Malcolm when he remembered that the internal sensors were offline. The region of space they were currently flying through was something of an interstellar wasteland, and there was hardly a chance that they would come across so much as a stray asteroid, let alone anything that could prove a threat. As good a time as any to run an internal maintenance check... or so he had thought. He hadn't expected that they would need the sensors to search for their wayward Armory Officer.

"Do you think he's delirious, doc?" If Malcolm was wandering through Enterprise's corridors in a fever-blurred haze, there was no telling what kind of trouble he might be getting himself into. Trip could only hope that he would stay away from the weapons' lockers.

"He's certainly not in his best state of mind, but I don't suppose that he is sleep-walking. At least I hope he isn't."

Trip found the doctor's statement to be less than reassuring. "We've gotta search the ship for him, doc. The scanners are gonna be offline for another three hours, and-"

"Wait a minute, Trip." Jon's voice interrupted him, sounding reassuringly calm and captainly. Apparently Archer had been standing next to Phlox, listening to their conversation. "Are you down in Cargo Hold 2?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Tell the party crew to start searching decks E and F. I'll make a shipwide announcement for the rest of the crew to start searching decks A to D. We'll find him, don't worry."

"Aye, sir. Thanks, Cap'n."

"And Trip?"

"Yeah?"

"Go check your quarters. Maybe he's there."

Trip nodded. "On my way."

Malcolm wasn't in Trip's quarters; nor was he in the messhall, his office, or the gym. Followed by Jon and Porthos, Trip checked every place where he could imagine Malcolm might have gone, constantly encountering search parties of two or three who were doing just the same. After more than an hour, none of them had had any luck, and Trip found himself getting seriously worried. He couldn't help thinking that Malcolm might have fallen down a maintenance tube and was now lying somewhere, injured and sick, with no means of calling for help. It didn't help that some of the crewpeople seemed to derive a certain enjoyment from the "Hunt for Reed", giggling and recounting the various occasions when Malcolm had escaped from sickbay. When he entered the messhall to find Rostov surrounded by a giggling crowd, making a show of poking around in a large bowl of potato salad, it was only the Captain's quick intervention that stopped him from giving the crewmen the dressing down of their lives. After a few stern words from Archer, the crewmen hastened to get back to their search, leaving behind a fuming Chef who seemed to regard the ruined potato salad as a personal offense.

"I have no idea where Reed is," he spat when he caught Trip's eyes. "And if you're going to ask me whether I have any pineapple rings to use as a bait, the answer is no!"

Trip hadn't yet decided whether he should risk telling Chef just where he could stick his uncalled-for sarcasm when the Captain laid a hand on his arm.

"We haven't checked the starboard observation deck yet," he said.

Trip turned his head, ignoring Chef who disappeared into the galley uttering unintelligible Norwegian swears. "Why would Malcolm go to the observation deck?"

Jon shrugged. "Can't hurt to check, can it?"

Trip nodded. Things were getting to a point where he would have climbed down into the very bowels of the ship if there was any hope of finding Malcolm there.

"Let's go."

As Trip had half expected, the observation deck was empty. Except for the usual collection of couches and the large yucca in the corner by the window, there was nothing there. He was already on his way back to the door when Jon called out behind him.

"Wait a minute, Trip!"

He turned around again and saw Porthos over in the corner by the yucca, wagging his tail and yipping excitedly at something half-hidden between the plant and the window. Something that appeared to be wearing mint-green sickbay pajamas.

"Malcolm!"

Trip crossed the room in a few large strides. As he came closer, he saw that it was indeed Malcolm who was sitting wedged in between the yucca and the window, curled up into a tight ball with his head resting on his knees. As if trying to protect himself from the cold, he had slipped the one-size-fits-all sickbay gown over his legs and pulled his hands into the sleeves.

He was shivering uncontrollably, and didn't look up when Trip crouched down next to him.

"God, Malcolm." Carefully, Trip laid a hand on Malcolm's shoulder. Even through the fabric of the shirt, he could feel the heat coming off the other man's skin. "Malcolm, are you awake? Can you hear me?"

Finally, Malcolm raised his head. His face was dripping with sweat, his eyes bleary and unfocused.

"T-trip?"

"Yeah," Trip said, trying to sound reassuring. Behind him, Jon was talking to someone, presumably Dr. Phlox, on the comm. "It's me. What are you doin' here, Mal? We've been lookin' for you all over the ship."

Malcolm's teeth were chattering, and he frowned as if he were trying to remember. "The b-bat," he said. "There was... the bat."

"You mean Dr. Phlox' bat, darlin'?" Trip asked, gently brushing the sweaty hair from Malcolm's forehead. Malcolm seemed too far gone to make much sense, but at least he had recognized Trip. "That's okay, she's fine. Don't worry about her."

"N-no," Malcolm said a little impatiently. "She's not fine. She... she got out, I think. You have to find her... put her back in her cage. She can't be outside. It's for her own good."

Trip had to smile a little despite Malcolm's obviously miserable condition. "Don't worry, Mal. We've found her, and we'll make sure she doesn't get out again."

"Good," Malcolm whispered, and allowed Trip to pull him closer, offering no resistance when the engineer began to rub his hands and feet in order to warm them up. "Don't... don't let her out again. She's not going to the party."

Trip laughed softly. "No way." He began to stroke Malcolm's damp hair. "Bats don't like parties all that much anyway, do they?"

Malcolm shook his head. "No... I guess not..."

His eyes were beginning to droop, and when Phlox and the med team arrived with the stretcher, Malcolm Reed was fast asleep.

* * *

"Happy New Year, Mal."

Malcolm opened his eyes and found himself looking at Trip's smiling face. It was a little blurred around the edges, and Malcolm blinked. After a second or two, the dancing spots in front of his eyes disappeared, and Malcolm realized that he was in sickbay. _Back_ in sickbay, his mind supplied, although the phrasing didn't seem to make much sense. Had he been out of sickbay? And if so...

"Trip? What happened?"

Trip's smile widened, although Malcolm could not see anything funny about his question. "Don't you remember?"

He shook his head, wincing when there was a dull throb at the base of his skull. All he remembered was feeling tired... tired and cold.

"No, I don't. Was... was I out of sickbay at some point?"

Trip laughed. "You could say so. You decided to make your getaway, again I might add, and wandered off when no one was payin' attention. We spent more than an hour lookin' for you, and when we finally found you on the observation deck, you were in a pretty bad state. But the doc says you're better now. Seems like the worst is over."

Listening to Trip's explanation, Malcolm had the sinking feeling that the "worst" was yet to come. "Who exactly spent more than an hour looking for me?" he asked, half dreading the answer.

"Oh, just me and the Cap'n..." Trip's tone was far too innocent. "And the rest of the crew."

Malcolm groaned. "Do me a favor, Trip?"

"Yeah?"

"Just shoot me."

Trip grinned. "C'mon, Mal. It's actually quite funny, if you think about it. And the important thing is that you're feelin' better, right?"

Malcolm sighed and nodded. He _was_ feeling better, at least a little, and his recollection of last night's events was mercifully vague. If he tried, he could even pretend not to remember that he had made a complete fool of himself by babbling incoherently about Dr. Phlox' bat.

"You think you can sit up a little?"

Malcolm nodded and Trip readjusted the biobed so that he sat propped up. It was only now that Malcolm noticed the two champagne glasses on the table next to the bed. He gave Trip an inquiring look, and the engineer smiled.

"I thought you might wanna catch up with the celebrations, since you missed the party last night."

Malcolm lowered his head. He didn't remember much, but he recalled enough to know that his main motivation to get out of sickbay had been avoiding the party... the party Trip had been looking forward to for weeks.

"Trip, I'm sorry if I ruined your evening. I..."

"Hey." The teasing tone had disappeared from Trip's voice. Malcolm looked up again, but instead of the frown he had expected to encounter, the engineer was smiling ruefully.

"You didn't ruin anythin', Mal. I guess I'm the one who should apologize. I was so excited about gettin' you to the party even though I knew you weren't doin' so good, and, well..." He shook his head. "I'm sorry if I made you feel you had to run."

Malcolm smiled. "You didn't. You know, I really wanted to spend the evening with you... when I walked out of sickbay, I was planning to go to your quarters to wait for you, but then I suppose I got lost on the way."

The grin reappeared on Trip's face. "Well, it's never too late to have our own little party."

He picked up a thermos bottle from the bedside table and carefully poured a generous amount of light brown liquid into each of the champagne glasses. Then he handed Malcolm one of them and raised the other one, smiling.

"Doc said you can't have alcohol yet, so I guess cold tea will have to do. Just pretend it's sparklin' wine."

Malcolm smiled back and raised his own glass, clinking it against Trip's. "Happy New Year, Trip!"

And even though Malcolm Reed usually didn't like parties, he had to admit that this one was turning out quite all right.

Das Ende

Please let me know what you think! (... feedback equals chocolate, remember ;)?)


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